


Autumn Affairs

by TimmyJaybird



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 09:05:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place directly after "The First Snows". Final installment. Sansa, Sandor, and Arya find themselves in White Harbor, and while they are not facing the perils of the road, the tension between the three has built to bursting. Arya wants to travel far North, while Sansa simply wants to understand the stirrings inside her. The Hound just wants the Stark girls safe, even if it means from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autumn Affairs

Sansa stretched as the sun streamed in through the open window. The streets outside were bustling, loud voices booming, the sounds of carts on cobblestone roads.

White Harbor was lively, not as lively as King’s Landing had been, but such an improvement over the Eyrie that Sansa could not complain. It had taken over a week of riding the reach, with the slow pace they often had to take, due to Stranger carrying the burden of three riders. Of those nights, two had been spent under a real roof, the rest out in the cold. When she had first seen the city in the distance, Sansa wanted to jump off the horse and kiss the ground with joy.

They had arrived yesterday, during mid-day. They had been cloaked to hid who they were, with Arya posed as a young boy, and Sansa her older sister. Arya had proudly said she would go by Arry, being used to the name, and Sansa had accepted the only other name given to her, Alayne. With Arya posing as a boy, they hoped it would throw Littlefinger’s men off just a bit. They would be looking for two girls, not one.

Sansa knew what it was like to be a young girl within city walls, and even if Arya didn’t understand completely, Sansa knew she was safer. The fear she still felt from the riot at King’s Landing could shake her to her core. She never wanted Arya to experience that.

Arya herself was running about the halls with a boy about her age, playing with wooden swords. The boy was pudgy, but all smiles to have a playmate. His mother, who owned the building, had told Sansa that he had never really gotten along with many of the local boys, that they scared him easily. He had blushed a bright red when Sansa smiled at him sweetly, wile Arya had made a retching noise at it, and the two children laughed wildly.

Sansa stepped past the two playing, wishing her sister a neutral good morning, and heading down the stairs. She had been worried about how they would pay to stay in the city, as she knew they couldn’t spend another night on the cold ground, with no food. What they got from the two inns they had stopped at had not been enough. She knew she had no coin, and what the Hound did have, she dare not question. She didn’t want to know where it had come from. _Ladies aren't meant to see some things_ she thought as she walked carefully down the stairs.

The inn had few visitors at the time, but the innkeep had told them it was normal. Men had just left the port, and she did not expect new ones for a good few nights, if not longer. She was a plump but friendly woman, and Sansa liked it. She had cooed over Sansa when she first saw her, cursing at her dirty dress and saying a girl so pretty should be in finer clothing. She was mother to Arya’s new pudgy friend, and Sansa could see where he got it from.

She stood in the kitchen this morning, chopping up apples. The sound of the knife cutting into the crisp fruit was clean and comforting to Sansa, better than the sound of horse hooves slugging in mud and snow.

“Good morning child,” she said when Sansa walked in. The girl stopped and curtsied, and the woman only laughed. “I have no need of that girl. Come, help me.”

Sanda obeyed, her hair wild like fire in the light. She took up a knife and gently cut one of the fruit in half, the sleeves of her new gown falling away from her wrists. The innkeep had insisted she get the girl a proper, clean dress to wear, and clothes for the boy as well, as she referred to Arya. She even had tried to clean the Hound up, who had seemed more than suspicious of her kindness.

Of course, he was paying it back. She had offered them a room when they had walked in, in return for his assistance in a few things. Things not discussed in front of Sansa or Arya, nor mentioned to Sansa that night as Arya slept.

The room they were given had one bed, and a long couch, rich in soft pillows. It was a decent inn, one Sansa assumed typically cost more than a few silver coins to stay in for a night. Arya had been asleep on the bed while the Hound lay on the couch, staring up at the black ceiling. His hand had rested on the pommel of his sword, sheathed and on the ground, and Sansa had sat next to his legs, saying little, just happy to have a roof over her head, and a moment without her sister.

She had chanced nothing ever since nearly waking Arya, reminding herself how _stupid_ it had been. She couldn’t explain her infatuation to her sister, she would never understand. And the last thing Sansa needed now was the risk losing Arya a second time.

But with her nearly snoring on the bed, Sansa felt safe.

“Are we safe here?” she had whispered, her hands folded in her lap, wearing a blue sleeping gown the inn keep had given her as well. Unlike the one at the Eyrie, it was thick for the cold nights, and left her feeling like she could curl up and snuggle into herself.

“Don’t know,” he had said, one hand folded under the back of his head. “But we won’t be here long.”

_So few words_ she thought, _It’s as if he can only talk to me when he’s truly drunk_. The thought amused Sansa, but didn’t upset her as it may once have. She simply accepted it for an answer and leaned back, the small of her back resting against his legs. He let her stay like that, in silence, until she moved herself to the bed, when his breathing had turned shallow and soft.

_He must be so tired all the time. He never sleeps. Even if he does, he’s awake if I so much as exhale too quickly_. She had thought it as she tucked herself into the bed next to Arya, and now as she cut fruit.

“Do you need all this for your guests?” Sansa asked quietly. The inn keep laughed.

“No, not this. Not now. It’s for tonight.” She didn’t elaborate, but picked up a huge chunk of apple and handed it to Sansa. “Eat something child, you’re too thin.”

Sansa could not say no.

She stayed in the kitchen, helping the innkeep until a few other young girls came in. She scolded them for coming in late, then gave Sansa a smile, thanked her for her help, and told her to go rest up.

“Do you read?” she asked as she walked Sansa back towards the stairs. The common room had a few travelers sitting down to eat, but it didn’t appear as if they would be staying the night.

“Yes,” Sansa said, realizing as the word left her lips it was dangerous. Common girls didn’t read.

“My children learned their letters,” the woman said as they ascended the stairs. “Well, my older ones. Little Robert here hasn’t yet.” She laughed when she saw him and Arya running about, Arya poking him in his belly with the sword, calling out that he was dead again.

Sansa was sure that every other boy in Westeros was named Robert now, and she didn’t need to ask if it was after the late king. “You have other children?” she asked instead as the innkeep let her into her room, empty and silent and welcoming.

“Oh, yes. Two older boys, then two girls, all grown and gone. And one girl, who lives in the harbor still.” She was smiling. “This last one was a shock to me indeed. Poor boy is a bastard, my husband died a few years before he was born. Guess even at my age children happen.” She laughed, and Sansa thought briefly to the only other Stark alive.

_Snow_ she reminded herself. _Jon is a Snow. But I can’t deny he’s my blood_. It hurt her to think of the things she had said to him growing up, referring to him as a bastard and not a Stark. As it was, Westeros had need of every drop of Stark blood, bastard or not. And she would be glad to see him again, though she doubted it would happen. He was on the wall, if he still lived, and she wasn’t even sure if they would make it to Winterfell. How they would travel beyond that was simply a mystery.

“I’ll have to see if any of them left any books about,” she said, standing in the doorway, “you could read one while you’re here.”

Sansa smiled and nodded, unable to say she did not think they would be here long. She knew the Hound didn’t feel it was safe, but she was enjoying this woman, and Arya had a friend, and they had a roof over their head. Maybe she could help around the inn, to cover some of the cost of staying.

The door closed and Sansa lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. A few years ago, when she first left Winterfell, a girl of only one-and-ten, she would have never dreamed of working in a kitchen, or as some girl in an inn. She was a proper lady, and would be cared for as such, by a proper night or lord. And now, two years later, as she neared her name day, she was so comfortable with the idea it was scary. Her dreams were gone, there was no knight in brightly colored armor, with flowers for her and golden waves in his hair. There was a roof, a boyish sister, and a hulking shadow. These were her realities, scars and cold nights.

She hugged herself, feeling cold. She had thought to nap, even if she had been up only a few hours. She did not expect the Hound for a while, and Arya did not need her. And with all the restless nights spent on the road, she could use some extra sleep.

In the hallway, Arya sat, her elbows resting on her knees.

“Let’s go outside,” the boy, Robert said. Arya looked at the door to her room, where Sansa was, and thought she would not like it, but shrugged, not caring. She followed him outside, dashing arund girls pouring ale and sour red wine for the men coming in to break a late fast, or take a mid day meal. She had eaten before Sansa had rose, as she watched the Hound leave as the sun rose. He had looked at her, but said nothing, his eyes piercing and commanding.

_He probably wants me to stay here_ she thought as they stepped outside into the sunlight. It was warm, the sun was bright, and Arya could have sworn she had stepped into a different world from the roads they had traveled. Robert poked her in the belly with his sword, then took off in his awkward running waddle. She chased after him, laughing loudly.

Arya could have sworn they ran around half the city, yet truly it was not far. The harbor was a new maze to her, one that she could not get enough of. She found hiding places to slip away from Robert as he hunted for her, but lost him many times too.

She was looking for him, having lost him down a busy market street. She looked under the stalls, getting yelled at by the vendors to scurry away like the street rat she was, but she didn’t care. The wooden sword he had leant her dangled in her hand, her arms tired. She wanted to find him and chase him back to the inn, see if his mother might have something for them to eat again.

She saw an ally way, one with crates stacked by the doors leading into the cramped buildings, and thought she saw one jiggle. She ran into the ally, kicking it over, only to find a big rat staring at her with its beady eyes. It hissed, then scurried off, just as one of the doors swung open. Arya felt someone grab the back of her shirt and lift her into the air, and she gripped her wooden sword in both hands. She cried out, trying to beat at the man’s other arm, when she heard a familiar voice.

“What are you doing here _girl_?” The last word was a raspy whisper, but harsh no the less. She looked back and saw the Hound’s face, annoyed, eyes narrow.

“I was playing with Robert,” she said, “I thought he was hiding down here.” She squirmed, but he held tight. “Let me _down_!”

“You should be with your sister,” he said, dropping her. Arya landed on her feet and turned around, reeling to hid him with the wooden sword. He grabbed it instead, wrenching it from her hands.

“Why?” Arya asked, frowning and glaring. “I’m not her bodyguard.”

“You handle a sword better than she does,” he said. He handed the wooden sword back and she took it. “And she’s all you’ve got left. Your house is _dead_ girl, and you know that. You should be clinging to her skirts so as not to lose her again.”

Arya scowled now. “She’s no fun,” she said, “but I’ll go back once I find Robert. I’m hungry anyway. Maybe she’ll get up and do something _useful_.” She ran past, leaving the Hound to watch her go.

Arya didn’t bother Sansa when she and Robert returned to the inn. His mother fed them instead, and then they sat around as one of the men eating was telling a few others about some of the fighting in the North, how with the Starks all dead the North was crumbling. The words scared Arya a bit, but the stories of battle were intense, intriguing, exactly what she loved.

Sansa slept through the afternoon, only opening her eyes to the raspy whisper of “Little bird” as the colorful light of dusk began to spill into the room. She rolled from her side onto her back and saw the Hound standing by the doorway, pulling his cloak off. She sat up and smiled at him, glad to see him back safely.

“Is it late?” she asked as he walked over. She watched him pull his leather off, and began working on the mail.

“You’ve missed the whole day,” he said, with a raspy laugh, a chuckle, and she shrugged a shoulder, her blue-grey gown falling down it. He didn’t look at her again until he was down to dark cloth, though his sword remained.

“There was nothing for me to do anyway,” she said. “Arya has no need of a boring sister who cannot play at swords. I did help our good hostess though,” she leaned forward, the gown rustling, loose around her. “I spent the morning in the kitchens with her. I never thought that _I’d_ be in the kitchens. Or happy with it.” He sat on the edge of the bed, and she leaned over against him. “This is a nice place.”

He did laugh then, and Sansa sat back up, looking confused.

“No place is nice, child,” he said, not looking at her. “This city is just as filthy as the rest. We just have been _graced_ enough to not see any lions about.”

“This is the North,” Sansa said, “there is no place for lions.”

“Nor wolves.”

Sansa narrowed her blue eyes. The Hound looked at her. “Little bird, you still have so much to learn. Nowhere is safe for you, not as a wolf.”

“Then why are you willing to take me to Winterfell?” Sansa asked. Silence passed for a moment, as Sandor just looked at her.

“Because it’s what you want,” he finally said, then turned away. Sansa sat in silence for a moment, then slipped out of the bed and the room, walking in a silent cloud down the stairs. She escaped outside, and walked around the inn, towards the back where the stables were. As the light faded it was growing colder, and the wind was picking up.

Sansa slipped inside, saw not a stable boy inside, and walked around, glancing at the horses. There were only a few, and she assumed some of them had to belong to the innkeep. At the end Stranger stood, nose deep in some feed. Sansa stopped to stare at him, but knew better than to get any closer. Even if the Hound was gentle with her, his horse was not.

She could have saddled a horse and rode out, she knew. It wasn’t that hard, she had seen it done. And she was a decent rider. She may not know the way to Winterfell, but she could figure it out, Follow the rode, sleep in the saddle, so no one could catch her. It would take many days, but she could sleep in her own bed again, if it wasn’t burned away. Even just her room, if there was anything similar to walls remaining.

She stepped back outside, into the cool air, and sat down in the grass. But did she really _want_ that now? What really waited for her at Winterfell other than ash and death? Yes, it was her’s by rights, but what could she do with it now? Fall to her knees and cry there, pray to the old gods who were burned away, and die in the cold.

_Someday, they will pay_ she thought, _All the lions that did this. I’ll burn them just like they burned my home_. But until then, Sansa wasn’t sure if she needed Winterfell. She did like it here, and the plump innkeep, and even her silly son. Arya had a friend, and it was like she could enjoy being a child again. Something Sansa could not experience now, something so far out of reach.

She sat there in the grass until the sun went down, and it was dark. The streets stayed lively, the sounds of men laughing and yelling to each other giving Sansa enough unease to make her stand and find her way back inside. She would never trsut a group of men again, not while she was alone, or unarmed.

Though she knew if she was armed she wouldn’t know what to do with herself.

The inn had gotten lively, full of men ordering drinks. The girls who had come in that morning were serving them, red cheeked and laughing. Sansa looked around, but didn’t see her sister, nor the Hound. She slipped towards the stairs and up them, nearly colliding with the innkeep.

“Oh! There you are child,” she said, smiling. “I was worried you’d gotten yourself lost in the city, no one knew where you were.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa said quickly, “I did not mean to frighten anyone, I just stepped outside.”

“Oh hush,” she said, waving a hand. “No apologies! I just thought you might be bored, and want to have a little fun. I’m taking some of these men over to my other inn, and I wondered if you wanted to come along. The serving girls are might yfine girls, fun and talkative, and I’m sure you’re lonley with just that little brother of yours and that big old man.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to get in the way,” Sansa said, and the woman hushed her.

“You wouldn’t child! You could help them. Pouring wine is easy enough. I’d even give you some coin for your trouble. Truth be told, I think I’ll need another girl tonight. Didn’t realize this many men had stayed behind when the last shps left.”

Sansa was wary, but the thought of some coin was good. She didn’t want the Hound to be the only one doing anything to keep them alive. She was a lady now, a woman, and she needed to do her part.

“If you’re sure I won’t intrude,” and the woman was grinning and taking her hand, pulling her up the stairs and off towards her own quarters, down the same hallway as Sansa’s room. She was chirping away about needing a fresh dress for her, and a good brushing for her hair, and Sansa could only bite her lip and worry it.

The dress she was put in was purple, and thinner than she was used to. It fell off her shoulders and low on her chest, pushing her small breasts up to create a small swell. The sleeves sliced down her arms, falling away so her hands were free. The innkeep braided a few strands of her hair, pulling them back around her hair, but saying the men always like the girl’s hair down. They bought more drinks if the girls were pretty.

When she was happy, she led Sansa down the stairs, into the common room. Sansa tried to blend in as the woman called out in a booming voice that it was time to move, and then men cheered, downed their cups, and stood. A few stayed seated, but most began leaving the inn, along with a few of the serving girls. Only two stayed behind.

Only as the room was clearing could Sansa see her sister and the Hound. Arya sat on a table, eating a hunk of bread as Robert was talking and waving his arms frantically. The Hound sat near her, drinking what Sansa knew to be wine. When he saw her as the room cleared, though, he set the cup down and cleared the room in a few a large strides.

He looked her up and down, and the way his eyes darkened gave Sansa chills. At the same time, his mouth was set in a tight frown, which made her tummy sick, in a bad way.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

“Oh she was just outside,” the innkeep said. “Now, come child, we best get going.”

“Going?” The Hound’s voice was harsh, and he reached out, taking Sansa by the arm. “Go upstairs little bird, you’re not going anywhere.” The innkeep looked back at him, but just smiled and laughed.

“Oh you are such a tense man,” she said, her curls jiggling with her cheeks as she laughed. “The girl will be _fine_. I have guards, and she is just serving drinks. I have no desire to take innocent girls who still have hope to such fates.” When the Hound didn’t release her, Sansa tried to pull her arm free.

“I’m going,” she said, though she was beginning to lose faith in her decision. Still, she wanted the coin, she wanted to _help_. She managed free of his grip and turned, hurrying out the door before he could grab her again. The Innkeep followed, picking up her heavy skirts, having changed since Sansa saw her in the morning into a much finer gown.

The streets were dark, light by the lamps some travelers held, or the torches hung along the buildings. They passed a tavern where Sansa could hear yelling and crashes. She flinched away.

“Why does a city need so many places for men to drink?” she asked, and the Innkeep laughed.

“Because none of us could hold them all,” she said. “There’s nothing a man loves more than a good strong drink. Except a pretty girl, of course.” She laughed again, but Sansa didn’t say anything to that. “Ah, here we are.” She gestured to a building that looked just like her inn, and Sansa wondered why she needed two, or why the men had to go from one to the other, until the walked in.

She stopped dead in the doorway, eyes wide, covering her mouth as she gasped. The common room was much more plush, with serving girls dressed as her running around with drinks and light food. What startled her most were the girls not dressed like her, or not even dressed at all, sitting with the men and laughing, openly teasing them, kissing them.

The innkeep smiled and placed a hand on Sansa’s shoulder.

“Child, have you never seen a brothel?” she asked, and Sansa stuttered.

“N-No, my lady,” she said, suddenly scared. The woman laughed again.

“Oh girl, I’m no lady who needs titles. I don’t think I’ve ever met a girl who hasn’t seen a brothel, though. Where _are_ you from?” Until then, the woman had not questioned Sansa, or anyone as far as she knew. Arya had volunteered her name loudly to Robert, but she had not even asked Sansa nor the Hound who they were.

“North of here,” was all Sansa dare say, and the woman just shrugged.

“Well, every girl has got to see one at some point. So many of them end up in here. You’ll be safe child, don’t you worry. You just smile and pour drinks, and no man will touch you. My guards will see to that.” She getured to a few men around the room, standing like stone against the walls. “My serving girls are never to be touched, that’s why you all dress alike. So the men know.”

She took Sansa by the arm and led her off, through the room, into a smaller one hidden away, were fruits and cheeses were piled high, and flagons of wine were being filled and carried out faster then Sansa could count. The innkeep introduced her to the girl, told them to give her a flagon of wine and just let her pour, then bustled out, greeting some of the whores and men alike with smiles and laughs.

Sansa was shaking as one girl, older than her, handed her the wine.

“It’s easy,” she was saying, her dark curls wild and crazy, but a nice frame for her round face. “You smile and fill their glasses, that’s all. The drunker they are, the more they pay for the girls. And of course, the more they owe for the wine. And most of these men want to be drunk enough that they can’t get out of the beds when they’re done.” She laughed, and Sansa only nodded, clutching the cold metal to her breasts.

She followed the other girl out, who greeted the men with laughs at their bawdy comments, one with a slap on the hand as he reached out to smack her behind. Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat and walked along the outer rim of the room, closest to the guards, pouring into the men’s cups. Most were distracted enough to not notice her, but a few called out asking for the wine, anf she could see their eyes leering as she bent over to pour.

Outside, in the dark, Arya was rushing to keep up with the Hound as his heavy, huge strides out paced her slim, small legs. Robert was waddling along with them, falling more and more behind, even though he was the one who truly knew where they were going.

In the inn, the Hound had settled back down, angry and glaring, and swallowed his wine so fast Arya was sure it must have spilled into his lungs, though if it did he showed not a sign. She wasn’t sure _why_ he was so angry, all Sansa had done for go out with that nice woman to her other inn. She had been out all day in the streets with Robert, and he had only shown concern because she was _away_ from Sansa, not for what might have happened to her out there.

Robert waddled off for a moment, off to look for some food, and Arya turned to the Hound, speaking in a low voice.

“Why are you so angry?” she asked as he downed another cup of wine. He said nothing, and Arya frowned, furrowed her brow. “All Sansa did was go out. What’s so bad about that?”

“For a woman in the city, everything,” he said, making a fist.

“She’s just a girl,” Arya said, but the Hound broke her off because she could continue.

“You forget child, your sister is a woman now. She’s even married.” The words looked like they poisoned him, tasted stale. He buried them in more wine. Arya sat in silence. She had forgotten that Sansa was married to that little Lannister man. She had heard it, as the Hound had, but she had never _asked_ Sansa about it, or what it might mean. Arya was still looking at her sister as a girl, just like her, but if she was married maybe that _did_ mean she was a woman. Arya didn’t know any married girls.

When Robert came back he sat down and handed Arya a piece of a blood orange, something she had not seen in such a long time. They were expensive in the North, having to come all the way from Dorn.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, taking a bite, some of the juice running down her chin. She wiped it on her sleeve.

“Mother left a few behind, she always does.” He stuffed his piece into his mouth. “The men at her brothel never eat as much as she thinks they will.”

Arya heard a cup slam on the table, and in an instant the Hound was, looking at the boy.

“Brothel?” Robert nodded, obviously scared as the man loomed over him. Arya herself was scared by the look in the Hound’s eyes. Rapid and bright, the look of an animal sick with fever and rage. “ _Where_?”

And now Arya found herself rushing to keep up with the Hound. It wasn’t far, he probably didn’t need Robert to show them, but she yelled at him none the less to slow down for them. He had a hand on the pommel of his sword, and Arya was afraid he meant to kill someone. Or a lot of people.

He burst through the door into the bright room, though the men and barely dressed woman paid him no mind. The guards along the wall tensed, ready to draw when they saw his sword, but were stopped by a merry, laughing voice.

“Oh, you’ve decided to join us!” The innkeep walked over, smiling wide. “I was wondering if you were going to stay back at that dreary inn all night, or come have a bit of fun.” She grabbed the Hound’s sword arm, leading him away from the door. “Come, have a drink. Have a _girl_. With all the gold you got for me today, you’ve earned one.”

The Hound pulled his arm free. “Where is she?” he asked, and the woman folded her arms over her large bosom, though her smile did not fade.

“There’s many shes here, ser. Though, the one you seek is fine. Pouring wine for drunk men, no more. She’s a sweet thing, I wouldn’t put her in the place of my other girls. Not when she still has hope.” She guided the Hound over to one of the many cushioned couches. “So, how about that wine and girl?”

He tried to wave her off, but Arya and Robert came through the door then, and the girls greeted him with many happy smiles and hellos. He waved at them, some pinched his cheeks as he walked by, and even the guards gave him a hello. The three men along the walls were older than the Hound, in boiled leather and mail, and though serious not unfriendly looking.

“My boy!” the innkeep said as she walked over and tussled his hair. “Oh what are you two doing here?”

“Following him,” Robert said, pointing to the Hound. The innkeep laughed.

“Well, this is no place for children. You run back and get something to eat, and I’ll get you soon. Take you back.” She hurried them off, but Arya shot the Hound a glance. The look her gave her held thousands of words, but she knew a few.

Go. Go far, out of here. Follow the boy, go back to the inn, but do not stay _here_. She knew he would not follow. Not while Sansa was here.

Sansa was pouring wine for a man in the corner who was smiling at her, talking to her while the woman he had been interested in had walked off for a moment. His eyes felt like needles, stinging into her breasts, her hips. She tried to smile and say nothing, and wished his cup wasn’t so damn big.

Just as the girl he had been interested in was returning, now holding the hand of a girl wearing nothing but some cotton hung from a necklace on her neck, that fell between her breasts and down down between her thighs, the Innkeep appeared, taking Sansa by the arm. By now men were ascending the stairs, and the room was emptying.

“Sweetling, be a dear and take wine over to that gentleman over there. I fear he is too tense for his own good.” She pointed off, and Sansa felt her tummy drop. The Hound was sitting there, staring at her, watching her. Though his gaze was different from the man who had been leering at her. His was warmer, watching _all_ of her, not just a few fine pieces. She nodded and walked over, having to concentrate on moving her feet so she didn’t trip.

A girl had placed an empty cup near him, and Sansa filled it, not speaking. She felt ashamed slightly, this was no place for a lady. She had hoped he would never know where she had been that night, had hoped he’d get drunk and pass out before she even returned.

He didn’t touch the wine though. Sansa took a breath, steadied her courage, and looked him in the eyes.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Looking after you, little bird,” he said, eyes meeting her’s, then circling the room. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” Sansa asked, her voice hushing. “She’s going to pay me. It might not be much, but it will _help_. Winterfell is still so far away.”

“This is no place for a lady-“

“I’m no lady,” Sansa said, feeling angry. “Just as you’re no knight. I lost that right when I lost my home, when I turned into a scared little bird.”

She tried to turn to go, but the Hound caught her arm, leaning forward. He didn’t speak, just looked at her, something... _sad_ in his eyes. Sad for her, maybe. Before Sansa could think to pull her arm back, or speak again, a girl walked over and sat down next to the Hound, smiling a sweet smile. She wore a gown that was far to tight around her breats, and they nearly spilled out.

“Leave the little thing,” she said, looking at Sansa for a moment. “She’s just a boring girl. It’s a woman you’re wanting, and I happen to be one.”

Sansa saw the Hound’s eyes. They looked at the woman, they took her in, and for a moment, they seemed intrigued. Then he looked back at her, but she was done. She pulled her arm free and walked off, not looking back.

She hid in the kitchen, passing Arya and her friend as they left. Two of the serving girls were drinking wine, a cup to get you through the last of the night they said. Sansa had one too, and when the wine was gone and she walked back out, so was he.

The night was long, and when the Innkeep finally told her to go get some sleep, she could have collapsed right there on the floor. The other girls were leaving as well, walking in the same direction, so Sansa followed. There was safety in numbers. The Innkeep would follow later, after she locked up.

The Inn itself was dark, and one of the serving girls Sansa didn’t know was cleaning up a table. She looked at Sansa, but said nothing as she ascended the stairs. Sansa held her skirts as she walked, though even that took more energy than she had. Yet she dreaded what lay behind her door. She hoped the Hound would be passed out drunk, and Arya curled up in the bed. She hoped no one would awaken, and that she could fall into sleep and they would be gone when she woke up, just for a time.

Sansa crept in. Sure enough, Arya was asleep on the bed, sprawled out instead of curled up, but asleep none the less. The Hound was on the couch, and Sansa presumed asleep as he didn’t move when she walked in. She sighed and latched the door, then walked quietly past them. She sturggled to get out of her dress, as it was laced in the back, but managed to loosen it enough to slip into her night gown. She was happy to have room to breathe again.

She turned around, and walked quietly towards the bed, relief flooding her-

Until a strong hand reached out and grabbed her arm. Sansa let out a shocked squeaky gasp and was whirled around, face to face with the Hound as he sat on the couch, feet planted firmly on the ground.

“Let _go_ of me,” she said, trying to yank her arm back, though it was no use. He only pulled her closer, between his legs until her legs bumped the cushions of the couch. He didn’t speak, just stared up at her, his eyes bright and rabid and _hungry_. “You’re hurting me,” Sansa whispered, just as his other arm encircled her waist. He yanked her down by her arm, his lips taking her savagely, and Sansa let out a muffled cry. He tasted like wine, sour and sweet and intoxicating. It had been so long since he kissed her, that she forgot her fear, the way his fingers dug into her arm. She forgot everything for a moment and let it happen, pushed her lips back against him.

But in the dark she saw that woman, nameless, almost faceless. And the way he had looked at her. And he had _disappeared_ , to where, Sansa could only guess.

She fought back again, suddenly, with a fervor she didn’t know she had. She yanked her arm free, placing her hands firmly on his shoulders and shoving him back. Caught off guard, he fell back against the cushions, staring at her, confused.

“ _Don’t_ touch me,” she hissed.

“Little bird,” he said, reaching for her. She slapped his hand away and retreated quickly to the bed, to the safety of Arya’s side. He wouldn’t do anything with her there, he _couldn’t_ , she just knew. But she waited, holding her breath, under the blanket, waiting to fell him pull her from the bed and throw her down, possibly to the floor, she didn’t know. She didn’t know what kind of rage she could have awoken in him.

She just didn’t want his mouth on hers after it was with that _whore_. She didn’t want him after he’d had his way with someone else, like she didn’t matter, was just a toy to be traded in for a sword.

He never came for her though, and Sansa finally slept.

Morning came and Arya stretched out, yawning, sunlight streaming into the room. Sansa was asleep silently next to her, but the Hound was gone. Arya stood up, stretched again, and dressed. She grabbed the wooden sword Robert was letter her play with, seeing the dagger she had stolen from Stone hidden beneath it. She always wanted to take it with her, but it would be obvious stuck in her belt.

She left her sister to sleep and strolled downstairs, expecting to find Robert eating a breakfast for an army, his mother dotting on him, greeting her warmly and offering her more food than her little stomach could hold in a week.

She stopped dead when she saw the Hound instead, sitting competely alone in the room. His hand was around a cup, but not moving. He moved his head slightly when he heard her, peered through his dark curls, then turned back to hsi wine, though he still did not lift the cup. Arya began moving again, slowly, aware of every sound her steps made as she walked to him.

She hoisted herself onto the table itself, next to him, his feet planted on the bench. He hardly noticed. She tapped her fingers on the wood, waited a second, then blurted, “Did someone die?” He looked at her now, fully, and she shrugged a shoulder. “You’re acting like a sad woman. So, did someone die?”

“Go away girl,” he said, waving a hand at her. She ignored him, poking him with the tip of her boot. He swatted her away, and she kicked him then, though not terribly hard. He glared at her.

“Look, I’m not happy about being stuck with you, just as you’re not happy with being stuck with me. But I need you to get home, and you...” Arya trailed off. “I don’t know what you want. We don’t have _anything left_ , but you must want something. So until I get home, and you get whatever it is you want, I’m stuck with you. And I should know what you’re thinking.”

“That little sister of yours,” the Hound rasped, almost silently. It only confused Arya more.

“Sansa?” she asked, hushed so no one could hear her, though the room was empty. “What about her?”

“Nothing,” the Hound said, standing up. He walked away from the table, stopping by the door to the inn. “Don’t go to far today,” he said, not looking back, “and don’t let her wonder either.”

Then he was gone, leaving Arya confused. She stared down into a full, untouched cup of wine, and frowned.

The daylight was strong when Sansa awoke. She dressed quickly, brushing her hair, the braids having fallen out during the night. Her auburn hair was a cascade of waves as she rushed down the stairs. The inn was empty it seemed, except for Robert eating a late breakfast. Even Arya wasn’t there.

“Have you seen my sis-brother?” Sansa stammered, almost slipping up. Robert shook his head, and Sansa turned and walked towards the kitchen. The Innkeep stood cutting up fruit, as usual, with the help of one other girl. She smiled at Sansa, beckoned her over. She handed her a piece of a blood orange, which Sansa ate happily, before picking up a knife to help. She wanted to stay in the Innkeep’s favor, and with nothing else to do, the company was nice.

“You did good last night, child,” she said, dumping some of the fuirt pieces onto a platter. “Kept up with the men and their thirsts. I’d love to have you back again tonight.”

Sansa thanked her, she’d be happy to do it again, though her cheeks flushed when she thought of the women, of the men lusting after them. The Innkeep laughed.

“You truly are a sheltered child,” the Innkeep said, “never been in a brothel. Why, you’re going to just die when you get your blood.”

“I have,” Sansa admitted, keeping her eyes cast down as she cut carefully. Without thinking, her mouth kept moving. “I’ve got a husband, too.”

The Innkeep stopped chopping, looking at Sansa, disbelieving. “ _You_?” she asked, and Sansa nodded. “Well, that would explain why he looks at you that way. Though truly, you seem too pretty and gentle for such a man.”

Sansa stared at her, her cheeks turning a bright red. “I beg pardon, my companion is not my husband.” The Innkeep was silent for a moment, then nodded. Sansa pushed the apple she had chopped away from her, then pulled a fresh one over. _What look_ she wondered. _How does he look at me? I’ve never really noticed, except those few times in the dark, when I can feel his eyes_. She tried to push the thoughts away, to not think of him at all, but it was difficult. She could still feel his lips on hers at times, taste the wine that had laced his tongue. She was sorry she had pushed him away, but angry still. If he had had that other woman, she didn’t want him. Not right after, like she was feasting on someone’s scraps. She no longer felt like a lady, but she had a little pride left.

That night, Sansa donned her purple gown again, her hair left in auburn waves. She walked with the other girls, who were giggling and looking at her. The one who had been in the kitchen earlier had been murmuring to them, and now they kept looking at her.

“What?” Sansa asked, confused and annoyed. Silence fell for a moment, before one said,

“Just wondering what a married woman is doing running around with a beast of a man.” Sansa gritted her teeth.

“He’s no beast,” she said. “He’s kind, no matter waht he might have you believe.” _Kind, but brutal and cruel as well_.

“Tell us,” another spoke up, “is he a beast in the bedroom at least?” The girls laughed, and Sansa saw the Innkeep look back slightly, but kept her lips tightly shut.

“I would not know,” Sansa said, holding her head higher. “I’m still a maiden.”

That brought gasps. One girl laughed. “I was no longer a maiden when I was younger than you! How are you married?”

Sansa was quiet then, not wanting to listen to them anymore. They talked amongst themselves then, slowly leaving her be, as they reached the brothel. They went right for the wine, and readied themselves for the long night ahead.

In the dead of night, Arya once again sat on a table, eating a plate of lemon cakes Robert had left her when he went to bed. They had chased each other around for most of the day, and he was tired. Arya was used to little sleep.

The Hound sat with her, drinking since he had returned after dark. By then Sansa had been gone, and Arya noticed that had made him seem all the more solemn. Almost sad.

“Want one?” she asked, holding one out to him, half a cake stuffed in her mouth. He waved her away. She shrugged, swallowed, and took another huge bite. “Sansa doesn’t know what she’s missing. Lemon cakes are her favorite.”

“She’s bloody well fine without them,” the Hound said, then winced at himself and took a long swallow of wine. Arya was taken aback- while the Hound was rough with her, his words about Sansa had seemed gentler and gentler as they days went by. “She shouldn’t be there,” he said after a moment. “That’s no place for...” he trailed off, and Arya set the cake down.

“For the heir to Winterfell?”

“For a lady as beautiful as her.” He took another drink, and Arya nearly choked. _Beautiful_? She hadn’t been aare that was a word the Hound even knew. And her sister? Well, Arya guessed she could be pretty, maybe. _She does have that long silky hair, red like mother’s. And she always smiles. And she doesn’t look like me anymore, she looks more like the ladies we saw at King’s Landing, in their tight dresses and jewels._

Arya guessed she was beautiful, now. She guessed her sister had changed enough to be a woman, and not a girl.

“So go get her,” Arya said. “If you don’t think she should be there. You’d have no problem dragging me out.”

The silence made Arya uncomfortable. It was true. The Hound would have thrown her, kicking and screaming, over his shoulder and just walked out. Why did he not want to do that to Sansa?

Arya slipped off the table. “Well, I’m going to go poke Robert with a stick until he wakes up. Tired or not, he promised we could go see the fireflies.” She walked off, leaving the Hound alone in the near dark, with his wine and his loneliness.

Sansa was wiping out a wine glass, hidden in the back, when one of the girls came back, giggling. She said something to one of the serving girls, her exposed breasts bouncing as she breathed rapidly, and they both giggled and clasped their hands together. Sansa looked at them, confused, until they looked back.

“What happened?” she dared to ask, and the whore smiled sweetly at her.

“One ‘o these men finally gave _me_ some pleasure.” She laughed. “’Bout time one of them did more than drunken thrust around.” They laughed more, but Sansa was quiet. She wasn’t entirely sure what they were talking about. Sure, the woman had gone to bed with the man, but she did she mean that he did something else?

“The girl’s a maid,” the serving girl pointed out, “she doesn’t even understand!” They laughed again, and the whore stepped closer.

“She will one day. Here girl,” she reached out, grabbing Sansa’s breast firmly. Sansa cried out, trying to step back, but the other girl grabbed her waist. “When they touch you,” she said, “Here, here,” her hand trailed down Sansa’s tummy, “and here,” she said, pressing her hand against the juncture of Sansa’s thighs, “and they think of more than themselves, you’ll understand.”

She released Sansa as quickly as she had grabbed her, turning back to the other girl. She said something about the man’s mouth, but Sansa ignored her now, shaking gently.

In the dark streets, the Hound walked briskly towards the brothel. In the dark of the inn, the silence had nearly driven him mad. He even wished the younger Stark girl had stayed with him, so he did not have to be alone with those hazy memories. Sansa’s fear, her revulsion as he kissed her. He wasn’t _proud_ of giving into the wine and her sweet smell last night, but he hadn’t expected her to react as such. She had never pulled away from him, in fact she usually only tried to get closer.

Before he even got to the inn though, the Innkeep was walking out, leading two other three guards and a drunk man. The tossed him down and chased him off, and he could only assume the man owed the plump woman too much gold to stay any longer. He would probably come face to face with him tomorrow.

She saw the Hound and stayed outside while her guards went inside. He stopped a few feet from her.

“Have you come to try and get the girl again?”

“Yes.” She smiled, shrugged a shoulder.

“You treat her like a child. Any woman flowered and married is no longer a child.” The Hound didn’t ask her how she knew such things, just gripped his teeth and tightened his fist, the sound of leather rubbing on leather, sinking into the cool air. “Though, if I had a maiden under my protection, I would be somewhat worried for her too.”

“Maiden?” the Hound said. “She’s a woman married.”

“Aye, but a maid none the less,” the Innkeep said. “You didn’t know? The way you look at her, and she at you, I would have thought you knew her whole life’s tale.” She shrugged. “Truthfully, I don’t know what is going on with you and the girl, but I don’t care that much. She’s a sweetling, and she looks at you like a maid looks at a knight.” The woman laughed then. “Truth be told, when she admitted she was married, I thought it was to _you_. And I could only wonder how that had come to be. Now I just wonder how you managed to steal her away from any husband. Where I man, she would be locked in a cage, away from the world.”

_Like a little bird_.

“She’ll come home safely tonight,” the Innkeep said. “Trust me as a mother. I’ve raised plenty of children in this city, and I won’t let no harm come to the girl. She’s safe here, and she’ll be returned when the night is done.”

The Hound _wanted_ to protest, to storm in and lift Sansa up and carry her back over his shoulder, but he didn’t. He was distracted now. How did Sansa look at him? With fear, with disgust? In the dark he could never tell, but in the light he couldn’t read her eyes. Too many nights of fear had left them masks of placidity.

He watched the Innkeep go inside, then turned and walked himself back to the inn, mind filled with all the songs he’s love to hear from his little bird.

At the end of the night, Sansa walked back to the Inn with the girls, were they separated to go about their various ways. She was tired again, though not as much as the night before. In the dark she climbed the stairs, listening to the wind pick up outside. It had grown cold, but not cold enough for another snow. Perhaps rain. The harbor was more likely to get rain than snow, she knew.

She slipped into the room, latching the door behind her. She turned around, looking up, and gasped. Sitting on the bed, staring directly at her, the Houng sat in the dark, barely visible even as fading moonlight filled the room. She saw no sign of Arya.

“Where’s my sister?” Sansa asked, not moving.

“She was with the boy,” the Hound said. “Fell asleep on the floor with him, in his room. I found her there.” Sansa nodded, though she assumed he couldn’t see her. She took a step closer, slowly. Her heart was pounding. She hadn’t been alone with him, truly alone, since the Eyrie.

“The Imp never had you,” he said as she took another step. She could see him now, elbows resting on his knees, leaning forward to gaze at her. His eyes were intent, but not unkind.

“N-no,” she stammered, confused. “How did you-“

“That loud woman,” he said, and Sansa knew it had to be the Innkeep. “Did the Lion drink too much?”

“No,” Sansa admitted. “No, Lord Tyrion... he did not wish to take me against my will. He had whores, he didn’t _need_ me.” Sansa remembered the woman again from the night before. “I’m just too much of a girl to compare to those woman.”

The Hound stood then, took two long strides to her. One arm encircled her, the other tilting her pretty face up, gently. Sansa choked on her breath.

“No one compares to you, little bird.” Sansa blushed, the Hound could feel the heat in her cheeks rising beneath his fingers.

“You looked at her, though,” Sansa whispered, and suddenly, she felt so childish. The Hound looked confused, then chuckled.

“A whore would flirt with the King’s shit if it meant gold. I left you there, but I did not take that woman.” Sansa smiled at that, laughed even, truly for one of the first time in so long. She reached up, her arms wrapping around his neck, and kissed his lips, lightly, like a butterfly. For a moment she was just a happy girl, like a maiden given the favor of her favorite knight.

But then her body pressed to his, and she shivered. His arms tightened around her, and Sansa kissed him slower, deeper, tilting her head back to reach him, to let him explore her mouth as he pleased. Her fingertips teased his neck, his shoulder, tugged at him and silently pleaded. All those dreams that had plagued Sansa came back to her, the kisses she had stolen in the Eyrie, the intrigue she had for what he could make her _feel_.

She pulled back to breathe, and he let her, one of his hands toying with her soft auburn hair. He touched her more like a puppy than a hound. Her skin was growing hot to the touch as he traced along her shoulders, then over her shoulder blades, feeling the lace on her gown. Sansa turned around slowly, pulling her hair over one shoulder.

“Please?” she asked softly, the lacing exposed. The Hound pulled on the strings, loosening the gown, allowing it to slip further down her shoulders. He leaned forward, nuzzling into her neck, nipping at the skin, his scars sending sweet chills down her spine as they melted with her skin. She sighed, closing her eyes as gooseflesh rose on her arms, as heat rose in her belly.

The Hound lifted her gently, and Sansa leaned up, kissing his neck, the scars along his face as he carried her to the bed. He lay her there and climbed over her, and she hesitated not a moment. She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down, pressing her lips to his, pushing her body up against his. Her fingers tugged on his clothing as he steadied himself with one hand, the other cupping her breast, making her whimper.

“You’re overdressed,” she whispered against his lips, and for a moment she heard Joffrey’s voice in her head. _My lady is overdressed. Unburden her_. Sansa chased the thoughts away. She didn’t want to think of that whoreson.

“So are you,” the Hound said, pulling away from her lips to look down at her. She smiled, sweet and lovely, laced with a passion she was discovering with every throb between her legs, with every spark of fire in her veins and chill down her spine.

“Then unburden me.”

His eyes burned bright like wildfire then, one of his hands yanking her dress down over her breasts. The shivered as the cool air hit them, as she dragged the dress down to her waist, freeing her arms as well. In the moonlight her soft skin looked like silk, and Sandor ran his fingers up her belly, between her breasts and along her neck. She kissed his palm, lips so sweet and soft. Then carefully, she took his hand and lowered it, resting it atop her breasts. His rough palm brought her nipple to life as he caressed her, a quiet moan slipping from her lips, so subtlety passionate, yet not lost on the Hound. For a moment he feared he’d collapsed on her then and there, she made him feel an odd sort of lightness. He wanted to rip the dress from her completely, to spread her thighs and thrust inside her, to take her as his own, so no other man ever could.

He contented himself with kissing and biting her neck, her shoulders. She was wriggling around beneath him, hands running up and down his broad chest. Every time his lips found her collar bone, she’d arch her back, trying to push her breasts towards his mouth, though whether she knew what she was doing, he wasn’t sure. Still, the temptation was too much, though he feared if he continued he _would_ take her.

And somehow, her maidenhood aroused and scared him all at once.

His lips on her breast drove Sansa mad, mad with something she did not know existed. She assumed ladies were excited by their lords, but the stirring inside her was gluttonous. His tongue swirled around the sensitive bud, and she felt his scars and beard, rough on her skin. It only excited her more. When he moved his lips to her other breasts, she moaned loudly, raking her fingers through his hair, mumbling something incoherent to even herself. The Hound kissed her lower, along the curve of her stomach, her navel, stopping only when he reached the bunched fabric of her dress. He wanted to tear it away, with his teeth even, expose her sweet cunt. She must taste like honey.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. Were he to find out, he would not be able to stop himself. It was one thing to steal kisses from her in the dark, to relish the feel of her small body against his, but she still had this innocence about her, one that Sandor wanted to keep, as much as he wanted to shatter it.

She was the first woman to look at his scars, to touch them, and she deserved better, his little bird.

When his touches ceased, and he shifted off of her, Sansa pushed herself up. Her hair fell over her shoulders, strands falling around her breasts. She did not cover them.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Her eyes were so bright and beautiful, they made the Hound ache. In his chest and in his cock, and he would be damned to the seven hells for some wine to dull it. “Please ser, don’t just stop.”

“I’m no knight, little bird,” he reminded her, and she reached out, grabbing his arm in both her hands. Little as they were, she gripped him like steel.

“You’ve been more a knight to me than any man I’ve known.” She took his hands, splayed his fingers, and placed it over her left breast, over her hammering heart, strong and fast. She kept her eyes locked with his. “If you’re a dog, than the men of Westeros are just rats, and I’d rather have a dog than a rat in my bed.”

She got onto her knees, leaning into him, kissing him again, holding his face. She was so _gentle_ , the Hound could not refuse her. He held her in his arms, let her tease his scars. “I dream of you,” she whispered into his ear, “still, even when I’m with you. Every night the dreams come they change, they give me more of you.” She kissed him again. “I feel like I’m _burning_ Sandor, and I can’t take it.”

The mere mention of his name drove him wild. The Hound grabbed her dress, tearing it down, kissing her fiercely, his tongue delving deep to dance with hers. He ripped away what cloth remained, until Sansa knelt naked before him. Her hands had found their way under the leather and cloth he wore, feeling his hard, bare chest. She whimpered, and he pulled away long enough to pull it off, before he grabbed her and kissed her again. He eased her back onto the bed, lips never leaving her, one rough, calloused hand running up her smooth, soft thigh. The parted for him without him asking, and he lost his breath when he touched her womanhood’s lips.

She was wet, slick and already ready, begging for him. He stroked her still, bit her neck and listened to her gasp, felt her shake. With his free hand he fought with the lacing on his pants, exhaling with relief as his cock was freed. He was already hard as steel, aching for her, all those stolen kisses and touches coming back to him, building up inside him.

Sansa begged then, seeing him free. She murmured _please_ over and over again, until the Hound was sure his voice would bring him to the end before he was even inside her.

He kicked his clothing away and pulled her hips up with one hand, flattening her shoulders onto the bed. He held his cock, pushing it gently against her entrance. Sansa gripped the bed, body tensing. Stopping a moment, the Hound leaned down, kissed her temple, her nose, her lips.

“It’ll hurt, little bird,” he said, and she just nodded. She had heard it hurt, from serving girls she had caught talking back at King’s Landing.

He kissed her again, then grabbed himself and pushed inside her body.

Sansa cried out loudly, eyes going wide. For a moment Sandor was sure she had woken the dead boy King, her father, even the late fat King Robert. He kissed her quickly to silence her, barely moving otherwise. It took all the will power he had to not pull out and drive into her again.

She was shaking, sobbing, and all he could do was kiss the corners of her eyes. He nuzzled her hair, kissed her gently until her sobs quieted. Then he kissed her breasts again, moving ever so slowly inside her, trying to bring the fire back to her blood. When he heard her moan low in her throat, he took his chances and gave her a proper thrust, groaning himself as her tightness.

Sansa moaned, tipped her head back, closing her eyes as he took her. Each thrust felt better than the last, the Hound burying himself to the hilt inside her, so her sex rubbed against his body. The friction created a tight knot in her tummy, one that tightened with each thrust, until Sansa was tossing her head and crying out, lost and confused in her own body but too far gone to care.

Sandor grabbed her hips, thrusting harder. He wanted to tear her apart, to shoot fire inside her, but she was too sensitive, and he did not want to hurt her, as badly as he wanted to give into the dog inside him.

He leaned over her, kissed her hard, pressed against her tongue with his. She wrapped her arms around him, her legs around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders. She was shaking hard, moaning with every thrust, a joly going through her body as the Hound’s cock hit a bundle of nerves deep inside her. Suddenly, she felt the knot in her tummy tighten to bursting, leaking heat and lightning into her blood. She nearly howled like the wolf inside her, crying out, muscling convulsing around him rhythmically.

That did it. The Hound gave a raspy, deep growl, and spilled himself inside her, pushing her into the bed. Sansa felt the warmth as she was lowred from her pleasure high, dizzy and light and floating inside her skin. And she felt the absence left when the Hound pulled from her, laying down next to her and staring up towards the dark ceiling. His own blood was still running hot, and he could not remember a time with _any_ woman that had left him feeling so completely spent and pleased.

Sansa rolled onto her side, slipping between his arm and body, laying against his chest. She didn’t speak, and he didn’t ask her to. She had sung enough for him that night.

Sansa was jolted from her sleep by the sound of pounding fists. She yawned, stretched, her naked body pressing against the Hound’s. In the night she had shifted to her side, facing he door, and he slept with his arm around her, one leg slipped between her two. She felt the rigid hardness of his cock between them, and it set a fire in her cunt.

But the pounding on the door now had a voice, a loud, young voice that Sansa knew.

Arya.

The Hound was awake now, and nuzzling her hair, until he heard it too. He stopped, then was up in a flash, dressing. Sansa did not know where her gown had gone, she she grabbed the blanket and pulled it up around her body.

Sandor unlatched the door and Arya burst in, scowling.

“What took so long?” she asked. “It’s so _late_. I expected even Sansa to be up by now.” She looked at her sister, and Sansa looked away quickly, afraid the younger Stark would see a change in her.

If she did, Arya ignored it. She said the Innkeep was looking for them, and then ran off the find little Robert.

Once the door was closed, Sansa stood up. Naked in the broad daylight now, the Hound could see her every curve, and he wanted her again. Instead he took a breath and turned away, hunting for his mail and boiled leather. Sansa walked past him, lingering a moment before she too began to dress. Every moment his eyes bit into her, she felt hot all over again, and a slickness between her legs that made her ache.

They made to leave in silence, the Hound at the door pushing some of Sansa’s auburn hair from her pretty face. She kissed him gently, on his lips and scarred cheek, then was off, holding her skirts and bustling down the stairs.

Arya sat on the table, watched as Sansa bound down the stairs and into the kitchen. The Hound soon followed, meeting the Innkeep by the door. They stepped out, talking quietly.

“I heard a wolf last night,” Robert said, rolling a die he had found on the floor this morning.

“Liar,” Arya said, “I would have heard it. I’ve got wolves in me.”

“Only the Starks had wolves in them, and my mother says they’re all dead now.” Arya didn’t respond to that, just watched him roll the die. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sansa walk back out of the kitchen, and Arya got up to follow her up the stairs.

“What is it Arya?” she asked, not looking back at her sister, too nervous.

“Do you think we’ll leave soon? Winterfell is a long way off. And I was thinking, there’s nothing there. I want to go to the _Wall_ Sansa. To find Jon. Maybe we can bring him home, even just for a little while. He can help us rebuild Winterfell, better than the Hound could.”

By now they had reached their bedroom door. Sansa whirled around in the doorway.

“Shut your mouth,” she said. “Sandor is the only reason we’re alive right now, with a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. Unless you want to struggle in the cold on your own, bite your tongue and be thankful he found something in us to like.” Arya scowled, and reached out to smack Sansa, angry. She was her sister, why did she always have to take everyone’s side but hers?

Sansa shoved her hand away, standing taller and firmer than she ever seemed to. “If you want to go to the wall, take your bloody self,” she said, before slamming the door behind her and latching it. Arya stomped her foot in anger and whirled around, storming off, cursing Sansa under her breath to the seven hells.

Sansa threw herself on the bed, forcing Arya from her mind. In one of her hands she had the few coins she had earned the past two nights, and was given leave to take a night for herself. Closing her eyes, she let them spill on the bed as she remembered the Hound, with his rough hands and lips, and the way he drove into her, held her against him and shook her very core.

Aching and hot again, Sansa reached beneath her dress and touched herself as he had, groaning quietly.

“She’s so dumb,” Arya said, kicking stones behind the inn, by the stables. “I don’t owe the Hound _anything_.” Yet Arya wasn’t entirely sure. He had gotten them closer to home than anyone else. He had kept them safe.

But he was just a murderer, Arya couldn’t forget. And she wanted to go to the wall. She wanted to see Jon. She wanted to get as far away from King’s Landing as possible, even further than Winterfell. She wanted snow and the howling of wolves. She wanted Nymeria.

She wanted so many things, and this city wasn’t one of them.

Night fell, and Arya did not appear in their room. Sansa had seen her when she had gotten some dinner, but Arya wouldn’t even look at her. It was dark now, and Sansa assumed she would not be returning to their room.

Instead, she waited for more pleasing company. The Hound hadn’t returned yet, and Sansa sat on the bed, naked as her name day. Her hair fell in silky smooth strands around her, and she begged the seven that he would be here soon. She hadn’t been able to soothe the fire inside her, and she burned for him.

When the door finally opened, she knelt, watched him walk in. He wasn’t looking up at first, not until the door was closed behind him. When his eyes found her, he stood as still as stone, eyes roaming over her.

“Little bird,” he rasped, and he wanted to fall to his knees. He didn’t believe in the power of the seven beyond the Stranger, but surely he could thank the Maiden for Sansa’s beauty.

“I missed you,” she admitted, feeling a different warmth inside her, in her chest, not just her tummy. He walked over to her, wrapped an arm around her, his gloved hand on the small of her back. He kissed her, gently, as much as he wanted to throw her down and fuck her again. She still deserved a gentle touch, even if it seemed as if she had awoken over night.

Sansa seemed to have other plans. She tugged on his clothing and kissed him deeply, murmured to him in a passionate whisper that she wanted him again. She felt alien in her own skin, using her voice for such requests, but she couldn’t deny herself. When the Hound had first taken her, it had been far better than she ever expected. And it left her wanting more.

Sandor didn’t fight, though he knew he should. He stripped, though she made it difficult, trying to kiss every inch of skin that was revealed. Her lips felt good on his chest, along his shoulders, finding every scar, big and small, from his years with the sword. Once he was naked as his name day, he grabbed her and threw her down on the bed, though playfully. Sansa _laughed_ , genuinely, and welcomed his body over hers, his mouth attacking her lips, his hands roaming. One was quick to slip between her thighs, to stroke along her slick lower lips and the little bundle of nerves that made her nearly jump out of her skin with pleasure.

She tried to grind her hips against his hand, whimpering into his mouth in a way that drove him wild. He abandoned her lips, gave one of her rosy nipples a quick nip that made her cry out, then settled between her thighs, his tongue running along her womanhood. Sansa shuddered in sudden pleasure, felt his burned scars on her thigh, and tipped her head back, breath coming in shallow, fast gasps. With every stroke of his tongue, she felt her stomach tighten, coil in on itself, until she felt it tighten so much it shattered, just like the night before. She cried out, body quaking, and that was when the Hound loomed over her and thrust inside her, catching the last few spasms of her orgasm. He groaned and Sansa cried out louder, moving her hips to meet his with every thrust.

He kissed her, nibbled at her ear. “Do you like that, little bird?”

“Yes!” It was a loud cry, and Sandor wondered if the entire city could hear her. He thought to kiss her, to quiet her, but fuck that, she sounded too glorious to silence.

He pulled out of her suddenly, to her dismay and flipped her over. Shocked, she gave a yelp, until she felt him pull her hips up and push into her tight body again. She pushed herself up, looked back at him, breath escaping her with every thrust. She looked dark and fearsome and so arousing, his hands running along her sides, leaving behind trails of fire in her skin. Sansa decided then that he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. Joffery, Ser Loras, all the knights and young lords she had ever met fell away, and she loved his scars and his raspy voice, loved his calloused hands and the way he took her, going from gentle to animalist in just a breath.

She loved him.

The realization broke into her mind and she turned away, trying to keep her face composed- though it was hard as he was doing all he could to make her come completely undone. He felt like steel inside her, and suddenly she wanted to _see_ him.

She pulled her hips away as he went to thrust, moving just out of his reach. She rolled over, got to her knees, and gave him a gentle shove. He tumbled onto the bed, falling against the pillows so his back was propped up. Sansa climbed onto his lap, guiding him back inside her, and moved slowly, locking her arms around his neck. He gripped her hips, helped her move, and nuzzled into her neck, her hair, kissing and biting and groaning, trying to keep from slipping over the edge.

She was just too perfect though, too soft and warm, her body fitting around him perfectly. He tried to guide her off him, so he could spill his seed elsewhere, but she refused, clutching him tighter, grinding her hips against him. Sandor relinquished, groaning as he once again filled her, and Sansa sighed blissfully. He raised his head and she kissed him then, passionate and young and so alive, shaking softly.

The Hound didn’t notice the tears in her eyes, brimming but never spilling down her cheeks. And neither noticed the sound of the door slipping shut once again, the latch left unattended.

The air felt hot, stifling to Arya. She had been sitting on the stairs for what felt like hours, not wanting to go back to her room.

She couldn’t deny what she had seen, even in the dark it was obvious. At first she had wanted to run in, to find her dagger in the dark and shove it into the Hound’s ribs, to scream at him that Sansa had trusted him. It was obvious, though Arya didn’t understand why. But she had seen _her_ kiss him, had seen Sansa pull him close. She was enjoying it.

Arya shuddered. _Is she blind? That’s the Hound. He’s nothing like those stupid knights she always swooned over._ Arya grimaced, knowing she couldn’t sit on the stairs forever. She thought of sneaking into Robert’s room and sleeping on the floor again, but she was sore, and wanted something more comfortable.

She didn’t want this city any longer either. She wanted to go to the wall, to go to Jon. He’d call her little sister and show her how to wield a big sword. And Ghost would be there, that white Direwolf that she missed too. If only Nymeria was with her now.

She felt around her clothing, pulled out her silver coin. She felt it between her fingers, tracing the carvings. Or she could find a ship and leave Westeros. Maybe she could convince Jon to leave the Night’s Watch, and go with her.

As soon as the thought came to her, she knew it was foolish. He had _wanted_ to join the watch, and there was no way he would leave to go on some silly adventure with her. He wasn’t one to go back on his vows.

Arya stood and walked solemnly to the door. She pushed it open, was met by darkness and silence. On the bed, Sansa slept on her side, covered by a blanket. She had her night gown on, and she was alone. On the couch, the Hound was awake, with a wineskin, drinking silently. He eyed Arya as she stepped in, but was silent.

Arya looked at the bed and wrinkeld her nose. She wouldn’t sleep _there_ , not after that. She wanted the couch.

“I want to sleep there,” Arya said, motioning to the couch. The Hound just looked at her, not drunk, strangely sober but placid. Arya wanted to retch.

“Why when you can curl up with your sister?”

_That’s just what you want_.

“I don’t want a bed you just fucked in.” She felt odd being so blunt, but it was true. She wasn’t _stupid_ , and being seen as a boy for so long and taught her many things.

Sandor stared at her, eyes wide. He set aside the wineskin, stood up slowly.

“Just go,” Arya said. “I don’t know why _Sansa_ would want you, but I’ll never understand her.”

The Hound could have said something, but he chose not to. He let Arya sulk in silence, and crawled into bed with Sansa, pulling her against him, kissing her neck quietly, nuzzling her hair. Fuck if the girl knew, he had never felt such peace as he did when his little bird was in his arms.

When dawn came, Sansa awoke slowly, feeling warm and fuzzy, pressed against something warm. She reached down, laced her fingers in with Sandor’s calloused ones, almost falling back to sleep. Then it sunk in. Sandor’s fingers, his hand, his body.

She sat up with a start, saw Arya sleeping on the couch, and terrified, shook the Hound. His eyes opened at once, and he grabbed her, pulling her down and covering her body with his as he looked around, searching for the cause of her alarm.

“Arya’s here!” Sansa whispered, panicked, and he relaxed. She pulled the blanket up around her, but Sandor just kissed her cheek.

“I know, little bird. She came when you were sleeping.”

“Why is she-“

“She saw me take you,” he said plainly, and Sansa suddenly felt...what? What _did_ she feel? Ashamed, scared, annoyed?

Truly, she felt relieved. Arya knew, and she was still here. Sansa could go on loving the Hound in front of her now, she didn’t have to hide it. There was no one in this city that she mattered to, only Arya, her only barrier.

That, and her fear of loving him. Sansa couldn’t deny it. The dreams, the burning desires, the way she felt, her heart raced, her tummy knotted. She knew she was excited by him, she could have admitted that a long time ago. But she truly felt for him. The thought of him suddenly being gone horrified her. Remembering how he had left her once could make her tremble, bring tears to her eyes and despair to her chest. But she feared she was being a child still. He wanted to _fuck_ her, that didn’t mean he loved her.

She had laid back down, and he was stroking her tummy, looking at her and past her at the same time.

“The next time I take you, you have to follow when I try to stop.” Sansa turned her head to him. “The last thing we need is me putting a bastard in your belly.”

Sansa’s first thought is that she wouldn’t mind, and her second the crashing realization that she _would enjoy it_. Maybe not right then, not yet, but she liked the idea more than bringing Lannisters into the world. She liked it more than she ever liked the idea of giving Joffrey children, even when she had been blinded by his golden locks and emerald eyes.

After all, a dog was close to a wolf. She could still give Winterfell the wolves it needed to grow again, to flourish. Someday...

She reached down, lacing her fingers with his. Maybe she already had one in her, and it wouldn’t matter. She didn’t say that, didn’t truly believe it. Instead she kissed him lightly.

“Maybe someday,” she said “maybe someday it wouldn’t be a _bastard_.”

This time he did look at her, not past her. He furrowed his brow.

“Someday you’ll find yourself some Northern lord to give you sons and daughters,” he rasped. “How else do you plan to rebuild Winterfell?” Sansa was quiet. “Little bird, you need _men_ to rebuild Winterfell, men that no longer live. Your North is chaos. If you want to rebuild your home, you’ll have to marry yourself into a strong house and hope they will do as you ask.”

Sansa didn’t speak. Her lip quivered. Truly, she had not thought of how she should rebuild Winterfell. She just... she just expected it to happen. Surely some lord would know her, some lord with love in his heart for her father still, and he would help her. She hadn’t thought to use to sweetness between her legs to achieve this.

Sandor looked uncomfortable. Maybe he disliked the prospect as much as Sansa did.

“I wouldn’t marry them,” she said, meekly. “I won’t let myself be forced into a marriage again. Not after the Lannisters.” She rolled onto her stomach, resting on the Hound’s chest and looking down at him. “And I won’t let them have me, either.”

His hand was tracing her spin, rough fingers with a gentle touch.

“Then you’ll never have Winterfell.”

“So be it.” Sansa looked him in the eyes, unwavering. She didn’t smile, she didn’t frown, she simply looked into him. “No one but you will take me,” she said, leaning down, kissing him quickly, gently. She wanted to slid down him, onto him, to slowly ride him into oblivion, but she also didn’t want to wake Arya. She contented herself with tracing his scars.

“You don’t know what you’re saying, child,” Sandor said, but Sansa just shrugged a perfect shoulder.

“I know I’d rather give you bastards than some lordling highborn sons. I’d rather fill wine cups at night to have you in my bed than sit on cushions and wear silk. I’d rather scream your name than any other. I’d rather die with you than have to lose you again.”

This time Sansa gave in. She crawled on top of him, reaching down and grasping his firm cock. She slid onto him slowly, moving quietly, praying to the seven to let Arya sleep just a little longer.

She moaned softly, kissing every inch of scarring on his face. He reached out for her hips, tried to still her, but she wouldn’t let him. “Where you go, I will follow Sandor,” she whispered, breathing harder. She was moving in just the right way to drie him wild, and it took all his self control to not groan, to not throw her down and fuck her madly. “I’m _your_ little bird, no other’s.”

She kissed him. “And you’re _my_ Hound.” Another kiss. She was choking on her words, wanting to cry out that she loved him, that her heart beat wildly for him, but all she could do was ride his manhood and torture him and play with her sweet little words.

She could hear Arya stirring, just ever so slightly, and knew her moments were fleeting. She let him grip her hips, guide her in a way that almost blinded him with hot white ecstasy.

“I love you,” she finally said, just as he nuzzled into her neck and hair, gasping as he came undone inside her. He clutched her tightly, unmoving, and after a moment Sansa was scared of her words. What if he was angry?

Then she felt his lips, his hands tangling in her hair. He kissed her neck, up to her ear, and whispered softly,

“My little bird.”

He kissed her, and she cupped his face. His cheeks were wet, like they had been once, at King’s Landing. But there was no blood, and Sansa knew they were tears. He had cried for her when he left her in that city, and he cried now, now that he ahd her again, forever.

Sansa knew then that it didn’t matter where she went. Whether they stayed in this city forever, or they made for the ruins of Winterfell and rebuilt slowly, or even not at all. If they went all the way to the wall for Arya, or took a ship and left Westeros. She had her Hound, and she knew he would not leave her again.

He even said so as he held her, as he cradled her and kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, her soft hair. No one would hurt her, or take her away, or cause her pain again. Or he’d kill them. She had given him the sweetest song she knew, her body, her love, and a future with at least one set of eyes that would look into his, not flinch from his scars. One pair of hands to trace them and ebb the memories away.

One woman to show him he wasn’t a dog, but a man.


End file.
